


Bloody Ivy

by Kalira



Category: Marginal Prince (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, First Kiss, First Meetings, M/M, Pre-Canon, Pre-Psychopaths In Love, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 02:39:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29181906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalira/pseuds/Kalira
Summary: Stanislav has been wondering at thisbloody ivyhe bears for a soulmate mark all his life; when a bloody man is hauled in to be put under his . . . 'care' . . . he definitely didn't expect to finally find an answer.
Relationships: Ivey/Stanislav Sokurov (Marginal Prince)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2
Collections: Valentine's Spectacular (2021)





	Bloody Ivy

**Author's Note:**

> When Stanislav was introduced (or first shown, pre-introduction) I truly would not have anticipated ending up with a ship for him. Imagine my (and M's) shock when he a) got a song, like the other bishies, b) was interrupted by Ivey just _walking into his bedroom and his bed_ , leaving us wondering at their backstory since they clearly appeared to be either exes or _actively dating_. . .
> 
> Well here's a soulmate version of one potential backstory explanation we came up with. ;)

“Sokurov!”

Stanislav didn’t jump, but he hurriedly closed the magazine he’d been flipping through and dropped it in a drawer as he rose to his feet, turning to face Commander Parton.

His brows rose as two other soldiers followed the commander in, a bloody figure in a half-shredded uniform on a stretcher between them.

“I require your skills.” Commander Parton ordered, and Stanislav smiled, fingers curling towards the inside of his lab coat, and- “Patch him up.”

Stanislav frowned as the men abandoned the injured soldier on a cot and the stretcher propped upright against the wall, saluted, and then left. “That is not my particular _talent_.” he pointed out, fingertips caressing the handle of one of his knives.

“It _is_ , however, your skillset, and your orders.” Commander Parton said, nodding sharply and turning on his heel. “It is part of your duties, Sokurov. See to it, and do not damage him.”

“ _Damage_ him?” Stanislav repeated, eyes narrowing, raising his voice as his commander stepped out. “He’s already a mess!”

Commander Parton continued down the hall outside, his boots thumping sharply on the concrete. “I know how many holes are already in him!” he yelled back.

“Sometimes medical treatment requires making more holes!” Stanislav countered, huffing and turning back to his . . . ‘patient’.

Not that it looked like that would be the case with this one.

“Boring. . .” Stanislav muttered, beginning to clean away blood to get at the worst of the soldier’s injuries, cutting away some of his ruined gear. Like Stanislav himself, he had clearly stopped keeping his hair cut regulation short once he had been recruited into the far less regimented black ops division; unlike Stanislav, his blonde hair showed the blood streaked through it clearly. Stanislav checked for hidden injuries and found only a gash across a swollen knot beneath the dirty blonde tangles.

Stanislav left it alone, slicing through the shoulders of the combat vest the soldier wore and tugging it off, finding his torso mostly unbattered and unbloodied and moving to his arms.

Stanislav’s conclusions about regulations were relying on the assumption that he _was_ one of theirs, of course. Stanislav slid a needle in alongside one of the bigger gashes on the soldier’s left arm. It was unlikely he was anything else - though Commander Parton would be unlikely to give him the freedom to play as he pleased even with a prisoner, a prisoner would not have been left in combat gear.

Stanislav mopped away blood that had dripped down the man’s arm, snorting and flicking a scalpel into his hand to cut away the remnants of the band on his wrist. There wasn’t much of it left, anyway, and what there was had been soaked with blood.

He stilled, turning the man’s forearm upwards and examining the silvery-grey streak that had caught his eye. He rolled the flat handle of the scalpel between his fingers, eyes on the remarkably similar scalpel angled upwards across the soldier’s wrist.

He rubbed his thumb over the handle of his custom blade, tracing the raised pattern that formed a not-quite-monogram, then slipped it back into its place in his lab coat. He cleaned away the blood obscuring the mark, revealing in its entirety a silver scalpel with sinuous patterns on the handle - highlighted by the blood dripping off the blade and down its length.

“Well then.” Stanislav eyed the man’s face, lips pursing, and rubbed one thumb over the mark on his wrist - following the edge of the blade - before slowly returning to treating his injuries. 

He was still unconscious by the time Stanislav was finished, and he settled in a chair by the side of the cot to watch over the man, examining his wrist once more. “How curious.” Stanislav shifted, pressing his lips together, then pulled off the band on his own wrist, revealing the bright little curve of greenery there.

It had been something to wonder over his entire life, but _that_ mark. . .

Stanislav had never seen anything like it, and he couldn’t help but be drawn to the man’s wrist - to the fine, bloody blade there. He retrieved his magazine and propped his feet on the edge of one drawer - it never closed properly - but didn’t quite manage to focus on its open pages, eyes straying to the scalpel mark the soldier bore and . . . wondering.

“What ‘s?”

Stanislav flicked his magazine closed and dropped his feet to the floor. “You’re awake.”

“I guess.” the soldier mumbled, cringing. “Who’re you?”

“Dr Stanislav Sokurov.” Stanislav said, rising and leaning over the man. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I got shot, kicked into a ditch, and run over by a cavalcade.” He groaned. “So, better than I expected to, if and when I woke up.”

Stanislav snorted, surprised at his own amusement. He ran through the rest of his checks, of both faculties and vitals, then pulled the man upright and set a glass of water within his reach. “Who are you, then?” he asked, settling back in his chair and watching curiously.

“Ivey.” the man said, half muffled by his glass, and Stanislav stilled. He muttered a curse. Surely- That couldn’t _possibly_. . . “What?”

Stanislav glanced at his wrist, then pulled a scalpel - one of his own - from his coat, tossing it lightly over to the cot. It glinted in the light and landed across _Ivey’s_ lap, and he reached for it, then twitched as he raised his head, eyes wide.

“Mine. Custom made.” Stanislav said, and reached out to take it back. With his left hand, his wrist bare.

He didn’t quite smirk when Ivey grabbed his arm, only a little startled.

“This. . .” Ivey looked at him, eyes surprisingly sharp. Now _that_ was interesting.

Stanislav raised his eyebrows, grinning, and Ivey pulled, thumb rubbing over his soulmark. “ _Really?_ ”

“Take it up with fate.” Stanislav said with a shiver. “I’ve been wondering for years-”

“Where do you think _I’ve_ been with that?” Ivey said dryly, waving his arm in a pointed display of the bloody blade on his skin.

Stanislav laughed, and Ivey yanked him down onto the edge of the cot with surprising strength. “I just patched you up,” Stanislav said as he rearranged himself with more composure, “I know exactly how many holes you have in you right now.”

“Unimportant.” Ivey said dismissively. Stanislav could hardly deny how . . . _intrigued_ he was, truly. “I have a much more important concern.”

“Oh? Do you need to report to Commander Parton?” Stanislav asked, as disinterestedly as he could manage.

Ivey’s fingers tightened around his soulmark, making his breath catch. “You’re going to be trouble, aren’t you?” Ivey asked, a playful light dancing in his eyes.

“That is one of the more charitable things that may ever have been said about me.” Stanislav said, amused. “What makes it _your_ -”

He broke off as Ivey’s grip tightened again, eyes locked with his own. He took a shallow breath, resisting a fleeting impulse to look away.

“Do you want to tease, or do you want to find out?” Ivey asked, voice low.

Stanislav resisted the impulse to counter again, ignored the shiver running down his spine as best he could, and leaned closer. Ivey switched hands, twining their fingers and letting their marks come into contact with a _rush_ that felt like adrenaline and rage and the sparking pleasure of steel under his fingertips all at once.

Stanislav pulled himself up and lunged, slinging one leg over Ivey’s and pressing into him. Ivey made a muffled sound of surprise as their lips met and Stanislav grinned, biting at his lip. He tasted like blood.

Stanislav squeezed their clasped hands tighter and pushed, and Ivey _growled_ , sending another shiver down his spine. The mark on his wrist ached hotly, the adrenaline spike of the first contact fading. It didn’t make the kiss any less _tempting_ , and Stanislav only drew back when his head began to spin.

“You . . . are something else.” Ivey said breathlessly, grinning. Stanislav’s brows rose, and Ivey lifted their clasped hands, bowing his head and brushing his lips across Stanislav’s mark.

“ _Ivy_ , really?” Stanislav asked, a little breathless.

“Yes?” Ivey asked, meeting his gaze with a smirk, and Stanislav couldn’t quite help a laugh, hooking his arm around Ivey’s neck and looking at the spray of ivy he bore on his wrist. He shook his head and pulled Ivey into another kiss, smothering his low laugh.


End file.
